Dilemma
by Londra
Summary: “I don’t care about what she says. I don’t mind if she says ‘I hate you.’ I just want her to speak. Say something. Anything. And then she will be free. Forever. And I will be in peace… She fing doesn’t.” Oneshot. DARK. DracoHermione.


**Disclaimer: **Don't own. Don't want. Don't care.

**Author: **Goddess of Angels

**Title: **Dilemma

**Summary: **"I don't care about what she says. I don't mind if she says 'I hate you.' I just want her to speak. Say something. Anything. And then she will be free. Forever. And I will be in peace…She fucking doesn't." One-shot. DARK. DMHG

**Rating: **R (Restricted – Not suitable for readers under 17)

**Fiction Rating: **M ( Contains content suitable for mature teens and older - Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16 with possible strong but non-explicit adult themes, references to violence, and strong coarse language.)

**DILEMMA**

One word.

Only one word.

I want her to speak to me.

Scream her hatred even.

And I will let her go.

She fucking doesn't.

She fucking doesn't.

She fucking doesn't.

She doesn't utter one single word to me, when she perfectly knows that I am the only one who can save her from this hell.

To ask for food.

Ask where she is.

Ask for release.

Ask how Potter is.

How Weasley is.

She doesn't open her bloody mouth.

I promised her months ago.

I even cast a spell on her.

If she spoke one word to me.

Even if it reflected her hatred.

Even if it was about me being evil.

Being cruel.

Being worthless.

I would let her go.

The moment she spoke, seconds after, she would disapparate.

She fucking doesn't.

She fucking doesn't.

She fucking doesn't.

She's been here for too long.

Sure she will speak some time.

I'll wait.

I'll wait to hear one word from her.

I don't care about what she says.

I don't mind if she says 'I hate you.'

I just want her to speak.

Say something.

Anything.

And then she will be free.

Forever.

And I will be in peace.

She fucking doesn't.

She fucking doesn't.

She fucking doesn't.

Oh, I speak to her.

I speak to her alright.

Everyday, I tell her about what's going on outside.

Tell her about the war.

She knows many of her friends are dead.

She knows her parents are dead.

What bothers me, is that she doesn't react.

I don't know what's wrong.

It should be killing her.

Sitting here, unable to do anything.

I provoke her.

I urge her to say many things.

To shut me up.

Her lip quivers sometimes.

A few drops of tears trail her cheeks.

Her mouth won't open.

She fucking doesn't.

She fucking doesn't.

She fucking doesn't.

I show her my Dark Mark.

I tell her I'm the Dark Lord's most loyal servant.

Explain what plans we have for the muggleborns.

I tell her that if she doesn't leave soon, she might die.

Even that I might be the one killing her.

Although deep inside I know I would never.

I remind her about the spell.

That she will be out of here in a second if she speaks.

She will be free.

In one bloody second.

One bloody word.

She fucking doesn't.

She fucking doesn't.

She fucking doesn't.

I tell her Weasley is dead.

I lie to her.

I tell her that I killed him.

That I murdered him.

Give details.

Explain all the Dark Magic I used.

I want to see her raging.

I want to see her attacking me.

I want her screaming at me.

Telling me I'm a bastard.

Telling me I don't deserve to live.

She fucking doesn't.

She fucking doesn't.

She fucking doesn't.

I go next to her.

I touch her hair.

Touch her bushy hair.

Her dry skin.

I look into her vulnerable, yet stubborn eyes.

It seems like she's holding an emotion.

Trying to tell me something.

I look back.

I can't stand it.

My hand lingers on her shoulder.

I want her to push it back.

To tell me I have no right to touch her.

To tell me that it's all my fault that she's locked up.

Tell me that it's all my fault she hates me.

She fucking doesn't.

She fucking doesn't.

She fucking doesn't.

I tell her.

Tell her that she's beautiful.

That she's beautiful even with her chapped lips.

She's beautiful even with her wild, untamed hair.

Even with her slightly too small hands.

Even with her dirty and grimy face.

I tell her she is beautiful again.

I wait.

I wait for her to slap me.

For her to tell me I have no right to do this to her.

To tell me that she can't stand the sight of me.

Tell me that I am ugly, even.

She fucking doesn't.

She fucking doesn't.

She fucking doesn't.

And then I tell her.

I tell her that I love her.

Tell her that I can't live without her.

Tell her that I'm addicted.

That I'm obsessed.

That I want her to be mine.

I tell her that I love her.

I wait for a reaction.

I wait for her to talk.

Say something.

Anything.

She fucking doesn't.

She fucking doesn't.

She fucking doesn't…

ooo-ooo-ooo

I've been here for too long.

As a war prisoner.

I haven't spoken a word.

He told me.

Told me that if I said one thing.

Anything.

I would be out of here.

I would be free.

I resist.

I resist.

I resist.

I don't want to go out.

I want to stay with him.

Until the day he cast the spell.

The spell which would lead to my freedom.

I wasn't sure.

I wasn't speaking in protest.

Just to annoy him.

But then I realised.

I want to stay.

With him.

I want to see my other friends too, perhaps.

But I hold back.

I resist.

I resist.

I resist.

I want to ask for food.

I want to know where I am.

I want to know how Harry is

How Ron is.

I resist.

I resist.

I resist.

He tells me.

He reminds me.

All the time.

Everyday.

If I speak one word.

Even if it reflects my hatred.

Even if it was about him being evil.

About him being cruel.

Him being worthless.

I want to tell him.

I don't hate him.

He isn't evil.

He isn't cruel.

He's not worthless.

He reminds me.

If I utter one single word, I will be out of here.

The second I spoke, I would disapparate.

That's why I don't.

I resist.

I resist.

I resist.

It's been very long.

I'm craving to speak.

Just one word.

But I can't.

But I won't.

If I do, I will have to leave.

Will be gone.

Forever.

Won't be back again.

I have to stay.

I want to stay.

I resist.

I resist.

I resist.

Oh, he speaks to me.

He speaks to me alright.

Everyday, he tells me about the world outside.

About the war.

He tells me Ginny and Lavender are dead.

He tells me my parents are dead.

It's killing me.

Sitting here, unable to do anything.

I want to cry.

I want to cry my eyes out.

To cry on his shoulder.

Let go of the burden.

But I need to stay.

I resist.

I resist.

I resist.

He shows me his Dark Mark.

Etched onto his forearm.

Fresh.

And Raw.

Mockingly bold.

He tells me he's the Dark Lord's most loyal servant.

He explains all the plans they have for the muggleborns.

All the plans.

How to kill them.

How to torture them.

He tells me if I don't leave soon, I might die.

I don't care.

As long as I'm next to him.

Then he tells me even he might be the one killing me.

I try hard not to laugh.

He wouldn't.

He would never.

I want to tell him that.

But then he reminds me.

The spell.

If I speak one bloody word.

I will be out in one bloody second.

I resist.

I resist.

I resist.

Then he tells me.

He tells me that Ron is dead.

He tells me that he killed him.

That he murdered him.

He gives details.

Of all the Dark Magic he used.

How he ripped his flesh into pieces.

I'm angry.

I want to attack him.

I want to scream at him.

I want to punish him.

Tell him he's a bastard.

Tell him he doesn't deserve to die.

But then, I realise.

He's lying.

He can't do Dark Magic.

I resist.

I resist.

I resist.

He comes next to me.

He touches my excessively bushy hair.

Touches my awfully dry skin.

He looks into my eyes.

I try to tell him.

Tell him I want to talk to him.

He looks away.

His hand lingers on my shoulder.

I want to hold it there.

Tell him to stay with me.

I resist.

I resist.

I resist.

He tells me I'm beautiful.

Even with my chapped lips.

Even with my wild, untamed hair.

Even with my slightly too small hands.

Even with my dirty and grimy face.

He tells me I'm beautiful.

Again.

I want to tell him how handsome he is.

How I love his silken hair.

The way it isn't too short, nor too long.

How I adore his steely grey eyes.

The way they look at me.

I resist.

I resist.

I resist.

And then he tells me.

He tells me he loves me.

Tells me he can't live without me.

Tells me he's addicted.

Tells me he's obsessed.

That he wants me to be his.

He tells me he loves me.

I want to tell him I love him.

That's the reason I'm still here.

I want to tell him I can't live without him.

That's the reason I still haven't left.

Tell him I'm addicted.

That's why I hold on.

Tell him I'm obsessed.

That's why I cling on.

Tell him that I want to be his.

And that that's the reason I can't.

I want to tell him I love him.

But I don't.

Because I won't.

Because I can't.

I resist.

I resist.

I resist…

* * *

**A/N: **Wow. Say hello to the dilemma. Am I evil or what? Anyway, sorry but this is a one-shot. I will not continue. Instead, you can read my other stories. 

Oh, and review...


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